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Sam Fraser: What an excellent idea for a possible "Adlock" fanfiction, I sooo wish you had an account on here so we could bounce ideas off! I have lots of projects that I'm working on at the moment, but as soon as I find some time, I will most definitely get started on it. And wow, I didn't know that Rachel and Noomi acted in a movie together. I can totally see them, (and Mary) as friends.

Also, I am going to start adding some of my own scenes into this story because I'm feeling really creative at the moment. :)

When I read about Paris in the stories and when we talked about it in school, they didn't tell me about the deepest, darkest corners of the city, the pubs, brothels and alleys which we had passed by, not even daring to look into, much less go into unless you had a death wish, or you were just looking for trouble. In this so called, "City of Lights," or "City that never sleeps," it was frightening to see that no one was out and about anymore, though we knew exactly why that was. It was for the best that everyone remained in their houses until tomorrow morning at least, but I didn't like how eerily quiet it was on the streets, though it wasn't as unnerving as walking around London at night when I thought that something or someone would jump out at me and try to rob, murder, or kidnap me.

As we turned the corner past the city square, we kept our guard up, being wary of anyone who approached us, or who we approached. People sat on the steps of bakeries and shops, with grimy faces, untamed hair and dressed in nothing but simple rags and I could see how cold their thin arms and legs had become. Some of them held crying babies, or nursed bottles of whiskey or wine, while others paced back and forth in an alarming manor, while their muscles twitched and they mumbled to themselves, incoherent sentences which had no real meaning, or maybe it did and I just didn't understand them. I was used to seeing this sort of thing in London, and most people turned a blind eye, or gave them the sideways glance, but sometimes even if you tried to help some of them, they would be frightened of you, perhaps because they didn't know who to trust and who to avoid.

I wished that I could do something, and I could tell that Watson was feeling the same way. As a doctor, and a soldier, he was used to seeing cases like this. The war took a toll on everyone, both physically and mentally, and often, the men who came back from it were never the same way that they once were. But these people weren't soldiers, they were just the unfortunate souls, outcasts, and I wanted to help them in any way that I thought would work.

"Just stay close to me," Holmes said gently taking a protective hold of my arm and I nodded, trying to push these thoughts out of my head and trying to ease the horrible pain in my stomach. "I know you want to solve all the world's problems, but sometimes, it just isn't possible."

I was about to reply when we heard something that made us stop in our tracks. It was someone, a woman, screaming for help. It sounded muffled, only the sharpest ears would have been able to pick it up. I turned to Holmes who looked straight ahead, trying to pin point where the sound was coming from, and in an instant, he took off into a mad run, just like he did before. The rest of us rushed after him until we made it to the very end of the alley. Whoever picked this place couldn't be more obvious.

A crime in a dingy alley? What are the chances of that?

My expression sharpened when I realised that the door had been left unlocked and anyone could go in if they wanted. But there was something on the door that made me curious, it was like someone had taken a knife, or a carving tool and pressed into the wood. The symbol was a fish, and it was quite well-sketched, too. Like this person had really good drawing skills and had taken their time to draw this simple symbol.

"A fish?" I asked him, "Why a fish of all things? Unless this criminal has a thing for fish."

"Moriarty," he muttered almost too quietly for us to hear him.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Simza asked, stepping forward. "If this is one of his tricks, for all we know whoever is in there could be leading us into a trap."

"Sim's right," said Watson, "We'll need a plan, and we'll need backup."

"Backup? Who would be out here in the middle of the night besides us?" Jane asked. "The Boogeyman?"

"One, the Boogeyman isn't real, surely you are smart enough to know that," I said in a matter-of-fact tone, "and two, Interpol will be patrolling the streets, or at least they should be." When I looked around again, it was quiet, and not in the good way.

"Of course, who would ever want to come down this street?" Jane mumbled. "Maybe if we shout for help, someone will come and see if we're alright,"

"Hmm, maybe not the best idea, that would let the criminal know that we're here," Watson replied.

"Now that you mention it, where exactly is here?" I tried to survey the scene, to see if there was any way that we could figure out where exactly we were. There was hardly any light around here, other than the streetlamps, so it was impossible to see where we were going, or make out the features of the house. There weren't any lights on in any of the houses on the street, and from what little I could see, everything looked run-down and crumbly, therefore, it would be safe to assume that this was an abandoned neighbourhood.

If only we had brought along a lantern or two, that would certainly help things and it would most definitely help me feel more safer.

"Charlotte, do you still have the map Aunt Daisy gave you?" asked Jane, and I remembered that Aunt Daisy gave us a map of the city, a special kind of map. It was a necklace, I reached down my shirt and pulled the necklace out, holding it in my hand and trying to locate exactly where we were.

"Oh, this brings back memories," said Watson, drawing our attention to some writing painted in eerie white letters.

"A slaughterhouse," Holmes muttered under his breath, a hint of amusement in his voice, then turned to us. "Charlotte, you and the other ladies should stay here while Watson and I take a look inside. Chances are, the sight of pig carcasses will bother you."

"Nah, I'll be fine," I insisted, slowly pushing the barn-style doors open and taking a peek inside. "Besides, it doesn't look like it's been used for years."

"Alright, then. Watson, you, Jane and Sim go and find help. I'll keep an eye on this one," he said, nodding toward me.

As soon as they left, the two of us went inside and stepped through into the entryway and I was right. The place was old, older than I was, and some of the machinery that belonged in a slaughterhouse was still there, but they were rusted and looked like they needed a good cleaning, though there was some evidence on the floors, some dried up blood and some dirt. It didn't smell like meat, either, instead, it smelled damp, almost musty and I wasn't sure whether it was a trick of the light, or my own mind playing tricks on me, but I thought I saw a rat in a small corner of the room.

Immediately, something caught Holmes' eye and he sprinted forward. Partway down the hall were some coats, two of them looked like they belonged to children, while another looked as if it belonged to an older woman. He took a quick glance at the various items inside the woman's coat pockets: a wallet, a pocketknife, and a couple of other items which were of little importance, but the moment I caught sight of a photograph, my eyes widened.

""Ravache. His family must be here," Holmes whispered, glancing over my shoulder at the image of a smiling man, his lovely wife and two beautiful boys, both of them looked like they were really young, too young and innocent to know the cruelties of this world.

When Holmes stepped closer to the stairs and saw a couple of scuff marks on the wall just above the risers.

"One of the marks was made by someone awkwardly walking backwards up the stairs and having to feel their way with their feet, while the second was made by someone following the first person while facing forwards but being thrown off-balance by something." Looking more closely at the wall, he saw a small indentation in the wallpaper. Putting a finger against the dent, his gaze became more intense. "and this was formed by someone dragging their hand along the wall, clawing at it in a desperate attempt to stop themselves being hauled backwards up the stairs. The depth of the nail mark could only have been made by someone with fairly long nails, and now as we move along, we notice that the marks stop altogether."

"There are more here," I said, moving to the other side of the staircase, "though they don't appear to be as deep, so one of the children must have tried to copy his mother in order to escape."

Suddenly, we heard a woman's anguished protests, and a child's screams.

Holmes stared intensely up the stairs and slowly, without a muscle in his face moving, his expression changed from deductive to outright murderous and I could almost feel the rage building up inside him as he stood quietly and unmoving for a few seconds, and then he started moving again and I could only go after him. Once we reached the top of the staircase, and the source of the shouting, he turned to me, gesturing for me to be silent. I nodded and he very slowly pushed open the door to the room. It was empty, hardly anything inside of it, except for a dining chair facing us, where a woman sat with her hands tied in front of her and her mouth was covered by a cloth. Her face was frozen in fear. Behind her, stood a man that we hadn't seen before, but was undoubtedly one of Moriarty's men, aiming the gun at the back of her head. One of his other men was standing in the middle of the room, trying to restrain one of the boys, who were trying to reach his mother and who kicked and thrashed around as he got a hold of him; the other stood near the window with the other boy in his arms.

As we slowly strolled into the room with his hands clasped behind his back, the woman – already crying quietly – began to sob a little louder. She did not look very well, her face was dirty, and it looked like she'd been putting up quite the fight. There was a large gash on the side of her head and a few cuts on her cheek and from what it looked like, she had some bruises on her knuckles as well.

"I believe you have something that we want, Mr Holmes." The leader said, speaking in French.

"I believe I do," He replied lowly. He walked closer and held out his right hand towards the woman. She struggled toward it, whimpering, and he gently turned back the sleeve of her right hand and looked at the bruises on her wrist. "Why don't you ask for it?"

What could this man possibly want?

The woman whimpered as he released her hands and straightened up, putting his hands behind his back again.

"First, get rid of your boys," he instructed.

"Why?"

"I dislike being outnumbered. It makes for too much stupid in the room."

The man hesitated for a moment, then glanced at his colleagues. "You two, go to the car."

"Then get into the car and drive away." He looks back to the man. "Don't try to trick me. You know who I am. It doesn't work."

The two men released the boys, turned to leave the room, and headed down the stairs.

"Next, you can stop pointing that gun at me."

"So you can point a gun at me? I don't think so."

Holmes stepped back and spread his arms to either side. "I'm unarmed."

"Mind if I check?"

"Oh, I insist."

The man came around from behind the woman and walked over to Holmes, and patted his breast pocket before flicking the coat open while Holmes stood meekly with his arms still spread. Walking around behind him, he starts patting for any hidden weapon at his back. He looked up to nod once at me and I responded and as the leader came back around, with his back toward me, I whipped out my gun from my pocket and aimed it at the man's shoulder, releasing a bullet and as the man shouted in pain, Holmes reared back and then savagely headbutted him in the face. The man fell back, unconscious.

Holmes shook his head and knelt down in front of the boys' mother, removing the cloth from around her mouth and gently stroking her face before starting to untie her. "Helen? It's alright, you're all right now, you're all right," He said softly, just as we heard voices speaking in rapid French, meaning Watson and the others had managed to find help. He continued to comfort her as best he could, I heard her saying the boys' names.

"Alexandre? Victor? It's alright, we don't want to hurt you, we want to help," I said coaxingly and got to my knees in front of them. "My friends are outside waiting for us, they will take you and your mother somewhere safe."

"What about Papa?" Victor asked. This was the question I was hoping not to have to answer. I did not know Ravache very well, but thankfully, in that moment, a response came to me.

"Do you know the heroes you read about in all those books?" I asked and they nodded. I went on to tell them that their papa was one of those heroes. I told them about how he fought for something he believed in, omitting some of the parts that their mother would probably want to tell them when they were old enough to understand. "Today, he went to battle and he got hurt, badly. Just before he died, he turned to me with a soft, loving smile and he said, 'Promise me that you and your friends will protect my boys and their mother, make sure they're safe and sound, and tell them that I love them with all my heart and soul.' I promised that I would and he went to sleep."

Everyone in the room was quiet, even the boys, who stood listening, not making a sound, it was as if they already knew. Children had a way of surprising me sometimes.

"He told me that you were very, very brave, and strong and he's right," I offered a soft smile in their mother's direction before looking back at them. "You're the strongest, most bravest boys I've ever met. And I need you to be brave and strong right now, alright?" I offered my hands and they looked to their mother for reassurance as Holmes helped her to her feet, and then the five of us exited the building and found Watson, Jane and Simza waiting for us.

There were also the Interpol, as Holmes explained the situation to them, Watson went into Doctor mode and started tending to the family's wounds with Jane as his assistant. A pair of nurses stood nearby had brought some essentials over from the hospital, including some blankets, some bandages and a few stuffed animals for Alexandre and Victor to cheer them up a bit and as I saw Simza talking to them, I heard one of them laughing. I smiled over at her and she glanced back at me.

For one moment, everything seemed to be falling into place, but I knew that the peace wouldn't last forever, and there was an East Wind coming.

And we would be ready for it.

(And now for short time skip brought to you by Simza being a mom!)

We made it to our hotel without any further mishap, well, at least we had one good thing happen today. Ravache's wife and children were safe, just like we promised.

The lobby wasn't too fancy, but it wasn't plain or dingy, either. Growing up in an over-privileged life meant we were used to luxury, but that didn't mean that we couldn't adjust to more simpler things. Simza and I both sat on a couple of leather armchairs across from each other while Watson and Jane talked to the receptionist to book us a couple of rooms. Of course we would be needing two rooms, one for the boys and one for the ladies.

Holmes was pacing back and forth, which made me worried. He would never admit it, but I could tell he was more on edge than he was before. I knew it was pointless to tell him not to worry, that would be like telling someone who was about to die to calm down, but I didn't know what else to say. Finally, after a deep breath, he sat down beside me.

"Are you alright?" I asked, looking over at him.

"Quite," he replied, not meeting my eyes. He was still hyperactive. It was easy to see that sitting still was bothering him. "Are you?"

I nodded. "I know, it's been a long day, and I know you're exhausted. A good night's sleep will do us all some good." I sighed and leaned back a little bit. "Speaking of which, I think you and Watson should take a room, and Simza, Jane and I will share one."

"What if something happens and we can't make it to you in time?" He faced me.

"I think I can handle myself, thank you very much," I said defensively, folding my arms across my chest and pouting like a child who hadn't been given their own way.

"Well, I don't think you can, and neither does Watson." He stated harshly. "I haven't seen you successfully defend yourself on your own."

"I.." I paused. I knew he was right, and it was painful for me to admit that. "Then what do you suggest we do, then?"

"Watson, Jane and Sim can share a room, and-"

"And we can share?" I finished, almost laughing at the end. "I didn't know you were that desperate to be alone with me, Holmes," I smirked and he actually smiled.

"Desperate wouldn't be the word I would use in this scenario."

"Eager, then?" I leaned forward. "I must be making quite the impression on you if-"

"I just don't want anything to happen to you, that's all," he said gently, but not without a bit of panic and that actually shut me up. From what I knew, Sherlock Holmes was not a man who expressed his emotions openly, or at all according to some people. Emotion and caring for people was something that could be considered more of a disadvantage than an advantage. I had always known that, but the whole ordeal with the family reminded me that everyone had a weak spot, someone who they wanted to protect, someone who they would literally die for. And the one rule of being a hero was to never show weakness.

Yes, I considered him a hero, much more heroic and brave than any prince in a fairy tale, and dare I say, more handsome.

"Well, I appreciate your concern," I said sincerely. "but it's not your responsibility to worry about me. What I do is my choice, and fighting for something worthwhile, like what we did today, I would do it all again in a heartbeat." My hand found his and I held onto it.

For a moment, neither of us said anything, just stared at each other, trying to read each other's thoughts.

"Besides, Watson, a married man in a room with two ladies, I don't think that's a good idea," Simza broke in. "Yes, I'm still here just so you're aware," she added with a little laugh and a knowing smile. "Actually, I was going to suggest that you and Jane share, that would just be asking for chaos."

"Yes, it would," I laughed. "But she seems pretty devoted to William, not the sort of person who would trade him for anyone."

Finally, Jane came over to us. "So, it turns out they have only one room left," she whispered. "but there are three beds, so now all that's left to figure out is who's going to sleep where. Personally, I think the two of you should share a bed, Sim and I share and Watson gets his own bed since...you know."

"Seems fair," I replied with a shrug and Jane led us down the long, quiet hallway to our rooms.

"Well, this should be fun," he muttered and I could see a hint of a smirk on his face.

"You try anything funny, and I'll kick you so hard, your children will feel it," I hissed.

"Touchy, touchy," he muttered and I rolled my eyes.

This is going to be a fun night indeed.